


The Capitol's Pets

by inthehouseofstark (itsAmmers)



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: The Arena, The Capitol, Tribute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:05:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsAmmers/pseuds/inthehouseofstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot. With one of his Tributes already dead, Mentor Finnick Odair is sent to see a client in the Capitol. While entertaining her, he learns of Annie Cresta's victory in the 70th Hunger Games. Rated M for language and sexual themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Capitol's Pets

**Author's Note:**

> May or may not turn this into a series of one-shots chronicling Finnick and Annie's relationship. Also I had no idea what tags to add...lol enjoy!

**THE CAPITOL'S PETS**

 

Of course Snow would arrange for a meeting  _during_ the damn Games. What did he care if the Tributes from District Four perished because one of their mentors was not monitoring the Arena? More blood meant more hype, and the Capitol had an insatiable bloodlust.

At least Mags was there to take care of things…maybe it was better this way. Finnick doesn't expect District Four to come out with a victory; their male Tribute, Prel, had already been dispatched. Beheaded five days into the Games. The female was no fighter and had no stomach for bloodshed. Upon seeing Prel's head lopped off by the District Two male, she'd run for the hills. Finnick was mildly impressed that she'd lasted another four days by hiding, but it was only a matter of time. Weak, scared girls who hid from the fighting didn't get any sponsors. Maybe Finnick should be relieved he has an excuse not to watch the poor girl be butchered. No matter how many times he's watched the Games, no matter how many times he sees his own Tributes die, it's always a sight he'd rather avoid, if possible.

And at least Madam Sabrer's bed is more comfortable than his chair back in the Game room. As far as clients go, Finnick doesn't mind Madam Sabrer. She's one of his most frequent callers, and she's easily old enough to be his mother…older, actually, and delighted at the idea of having such a strapping young man in her bed. She doesn't care that she pays for him.

The very first time Finnick was sold, at the age of sixteen…he'd never been with a woman then. He'd naturally assumed his first client would be just that—a woman. But he found out quickly: women didn't want inexperienced boys, they wanted men who knew how to handle themselves, how to pleasure a woman. Men, on the other hand, wanted them young, wanted them innocent. Men wanted boys. When Finnick was younger, not quite so filled out, when his face still retained a hint of soft roundness from childhood, he'd had a number of men call on him. He hated them more than anyone—maybe more than Snow, even. They were ashamed of what they did, and would be disgraced if anyone knew what they did with the boy from District Four behind closed doors. They got their kicks off of the wrongness of it. It repulsed Finnick. He was sick after the first time and dreaded the next, and the next….

But it wasn't long before all trace of boyishness left him, and then more women came to call. He had always been lean, but now he's filled out and reached his full height. He is a man now, and beautiful to boot. He still gets men, from time to time, but it's not like when he was a boy. The women are by far easier to deal with, and Madam Sabrer is perhaps the easiest.

She's one of the Capitol 's wealthiest. A dignified widow with a vast apartment in one of the Capitol 's most posh buildings. She's husky in build and her handsome, slightly-wrinkled face is usually powdered white and caked with too much makeup. Trying to look about thirty years younger than she actually is.

But she dotes on Finnick, and actually enjoys their conversations. He's not just a soundboard for her, as he is for so many. In some strange way, this childless woman almost treats him like a son. She also relishes in gossip; it's like a game to her. She'll call Finnick to her apartments and be bursting at the seams to tell him the latest juice. Madam Sabrer is also one of his few clients that doesn't pretend (or hope) that she's his only client. In fact, she often sets him on track to pursue other clients—the ones who have something interesting for Finnick to learn. That was Finnick's game now. He had been forced into this lifestyle of prostitution, and so he was turning it into his advantage. If this was the game he had to play now…he'd play it well. And Mada Sabrer opened doors for him.

So she may be old and she may be a shallow, wretched human being, but Finnick likes her as much as he can possibly like someone who pays President Snow for the right to fuck him. She's almost like an ally, helping him cultivate his little garden of secrets….

Presently, she's in a satisfied sleep, dozing happily in the wake of pleasure. The room smells slightly of stale sweat, masked by some faint potpourri. Finnick finds he can't sleep, can't ignore the fact that the Games are being televised right now. He sits cross-legged near the foot of the king-sized bed, naked under a toss of silk sheets, and against his better judgment turns on the television. He sets the volume on low. The room is dimly lit by an ornate chandelier above his head.

When he turns on the television, the Arena is flooded. He blinks and frowns, wondering how the hell the arena had gone from meadows and dusty fields to a lake in the few hours that he has been away from the Game room. Finnick's blue-green eyes navigate to the ticker scrolling along the bottom of the screen. It loops the names of all the Tributes in order by District. The names in red are those who have been killed. He catches it at the end of the list, when the District Twelve Tributes' names crawl by in red. The list loops again. To his surprise, the male from One is dead now…as are both Tributes from Two. The male is left from Three…and the female from Four.

She's one of three Tributes left. Finnick is shocked, but suddenly sees the advantage. The Arena is a sea now. The water is rushing across the little bloodstained fields, like a violent ocean wake. The cameras have lost most of the Tributes in the sudden tide. It takes them six minutes to find the Tribute from District Eight, desperately trying to hold onto a rocky outcropping by the half-submerged hills, and another minute to find Finnick's remaining Tribute. The water sweeps Eight away from his life-saving hold on the boulder, and he goes under. A minute later, there is cannon fire when he drowns.

The girl from Four is keeping her head above water. She's a strong swimmer, naturally. Her dark eyes are wide. Her dark hair is plastered to her face. The water is carrying her quickly but she's keeping her head up. The cameras still can't find the Tribute from Three. Another minute passes and a cannon is fired. The cameras don't see it, but Three has drowned as well.

Finnick stares at the television. A loud horn is sounded in the Arena, indicating the end of the Games. District Four has won. It only takes seconds for a large craft to swoop in and pluck her from the raging waters. She's shivering, soaked to the bone. The cameras hound her as she's collected aboard the ship. Finnick thinks she's rather pretty, except for the look of sheer terror and panic on her face. She's sobbing hysterically. Flickerman is talking a mile a minute, bursting with shock at the outcome of the Hunger Games and announcing District Four's triumph…accidental though it may be. Finnick gathers something about the dam breaking, and an earthquake.

Madam Sabrer stirs. She rolls onto her back and stretches, asking sleepily, "What is it, Finsy?" She has a husky voice, deep for a woman's.

Finnick is calm when he speaks, sounding detached. "The girl from District Four just won the Games," he says. "Annie Cresta."

" _Really_?" says Sabrer, wide awake now. She sits up eagerly, covered modestly by the sheets as she looks at the screen. She scrutinizes the images before scoffing, "Hoo! She looks like a drowned rat! Scrawny little thing…" Madam Sabrer, being of sturdier build, often commented on other women being too skinny.

"I thought she was pretty," says Finnick off-handedly.

Madam Sabrer grins and takes his chin in her hand fondly. "Hmm, not so pretty as  _you_ , my pet. Get over here."

Finnick puts on his most charming, mischievous grin and crawls back to her, turning his back on the television. They hear fireworks from outside. In District Four, they are celebrating.


End file.
